Red and Blue
by Peridot Tears
Summary: Yao desperately wrings assurance out of Alfred on Lunar New Year. Brutally short one-shot.


_Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't mine. Really. Hontoo. Pft._

Yao stood quite solidly as he watched the parade, the several lions and the smallest children ducking away from them. Stifling a chuckle, he broke his firm stance and knelt down to a nearby little boy barely up to his knee.

"Hai pa ma?" he asked the child, who quickly nodded, his starry eyes huge. Of course he was scared. "Mei shenme, zhi shi ren er yi." Smiling, Yao patted the boy on the head; still, his own statement seemed a bit unreal even to him; the lions were certainly only people...but...

"Wo zhi dao!" squeaked the boy. "Ke shi wo hai hai pa!" Yao's smile widened at the young reply; it was so _adorable._

"Ei," he said, almost teasingly, "wo xiao de shi hou ye qu gen ta men a." Beckoning at the lion dancers, Yao noted the boy's eyes, which were getting wider. "Ke hao war a." Yao hardly noticed the pain in his cheeks, ebbing away into the small chill; he loved Chinese New Year, or else Lunar New Year for his brothers' sake. He enjoyed mingling with his people in the tide of red and gold celebrations, and the firecrackers that he wistfully longed to play with daily like before. Explosions were, on these days of new spring, beautiful; absolutely beautiful.

"The hell are you saying?" Yao only just caught his grimace when Alfred giggled; the brainless American.

"Aiya," Yao sighed, before smiling again at the big-eyed child. Getting up, he told him cheerfully, "Gong xi fa cai!"

"Xin nian kuai le!" the boy shouted as Yao walked away; he smiled.

"Your language is so weird!" America was saying, though he was laughing; that loud, abrasive laugh that undid the sky.

"It's not like I'm asking you to speak it, aru," Yao murmured. He cast an eye about the streets of the Chinese town, strewn with gold and scarlet. He smiled again, fondly; his happy people were all watching the parade, welcoming the year of the tiger. "Festive" was a most appropriate description. The streets were clearly of New York City—not Manhattan, but with wonderful modernity nonetheless. At every corner was a starburst of red and gold for the New Year; it was all wonderfully appropriate.

"These are your people as well as mine," he murmured, almost sadly; his people were shared with that idiot America, and he could not have him—crowded as his country was, he was to let them find another identity that was far from his own reach—he, the roots! But they were in safe hands...

"D'ya sell Dim Sum here?" Alfred asked, cracking his small reverie; he had not heard his small statement, then. "How about fried chicken?"

"Don't forget our string beans, aru," Yao pointed out, casting him a glance. Wryly, he noted America's youth; annoying as it was, it was so adorable; he didn't know many grown men who could be so childish. Staring back out over the people, he watched them—the sea of rippling black hair upon their heads, the air thick with Mandarin and Cantonese—and even Shanghainese and Fujianese, to his delight—and the laughter and chatter...almost sighing contently, he looked back at America. Alfred, with his eyes brilliant blue like the sky above, and hair like the ocher sun; he was like a smear of pastel upon pure paper. Sticking out like a sore thumb through looks alone.

He was harboring these black-haired, black-eyed people that were Yao's through blood.

"Xin nian kuai le!" screamed the people, watching the firecrackers popping and snapping, letting out the giant tiger float; Yao looked at the mark upon the kingly beast's forehead, and breathed, "Wang."

The world was alive then.

Turning to the cheering American, his childish blue eyes alight, he gently touched the youth on the shoulder.

"Huh?" Alfred turned to him, grinning widely; the curve stretched from ear to ear, and Yao had to smile just as hard himself.

"America, aru," Yao said quickly, gripping his shoulder in a brotherly way; he had to say this, while he still could, "look at them all—they're all Chinese, aru. Are they not?"

"Of course," America said brightly. His tone was set to an isn't-it-so-obvious? way, a way that was inexplicably charming. Yao didn't know whether to coo or reprimand him; he was an elder, after all.

"Are you sure about that, aru?" he inquired.

It was then that he noticed that his heart was beating quite fast in his chest; breathing a bit more heavily, he looked expectantly at Alfred.

"Of course!" America laughed. "They're my people too!"

"You'll take care of them, right?"

"Of course! They're my people!" He was still laughing. "Why do you ask?"

"I..." Yao's throat went dry. Were those words true? Staring into the innocent blue eyes, he swallowed; it had to be true, and this was his answer. Did this really assure him? "Then...," he continued doggedly, "they really are yours?" He almost winced; this was nearly desperate.

"Yes!"

This prodded at the tiny warm bud in Yao's stomach; he thought it was blooming. "Are my people safe in your hands?"

_"Our_ people," Alfred corrected him. "And of course!"

"Ah." Yao sucked in a breath; he thought tears were filling his eyes, but he wasn't so easily touched...

"Thank you," he said at last, lest he begin crying. "They're yours, then." He felt the tiny bud open.

_They're in good hands..._

"Of course!" Alfred grinned again. "How does that go again?" Before Yao could make even a sound, he went on. "Oh yeah! Xin nien kua le!"

"America!" Yao burst out laughing at his pronunciation; childishly, sensitively, he laughed at something that wasn't even uncommon.

"What?" Alfred laughed himself.

"Aiya," Yao sighed. But he smiled as well, a slight curve on his timeless face. "That's that, then, aru." Turning back, he watched the festivities. Red and gold and the new spring. "Xin nian kuai le."

Alfred clung to his arm like a little brother, still gazing about as if he did not see this every year.

A tear fell on the pavement coated with streamers and confetti, splashed and wet the hem of a red tablecloth.

--

**_PT: Eh, at least this time my attempt at a holiday fic isn't as half-assed as others. Ohoho~ Now I'm doing a Chinese-American fic –shot- To note, Yao's surname, Wang, totally means "king" or broadly "ruler"; and it's common as hell, even one of my relatives has that name xD As opposed to my surname, which I hardly find anywhere ;_; I was told as a kid that the usual kanji on the tiger's head, wang, means that tigers are kings above all animals. Translations for any Chinese will be provided if asked for xD –Shot- And to reference, I get annoyed when people just say Chinese people eat fried chicken, even though it –does- have basis in fact; and then there's the fact that I was scared of the lions as a little bugger too xD _****_新年快乐！！_******


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